A Poem For My Sons When They’re Bored
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| (Kent House, 1971 by Jamie Wyeth - found here) |
There is a house on rocks.
The house is the same colour
as small parts of the rock.
Vanilla. Or off-Vanilla.
Or muted vanilla.
The door— near the middle
of the painting, almost no
bigger than the vanilla
windows, above it
and next to it, is blue.
There are no birch trees
for swinging—not there
on this shoreline in Maine,
anyway. Not there on the rock.
Only the house. There is no hawk
anywhere I can see, “motionless
in dying vision before it knows
it will accept the mortal limit.”
There is only the rock, mostly,
with the house, similar in colour,
and the door—the blue door
the same colour as the sky.
You may live in the house
on all of that rock. You may
watch all the TV you wish
or stream movies on your phone
in that house on all of that rock.
You may ignore the windows
and indulge in mirrors. You may argue
whether the kitchen or the bathrooms
are the most important rooms
for profitable resale. You may.
Remember that the door leads to the sky.
~Jacob Stratman
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